


Primary Instinct

by house_of_lantis



Category: Basic Instinct (Movies), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, Gaslighting, M/M, Murder, Sex, Sexual Violence, Tags will be updated as needed, Violence, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: The mysterious Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a renowned psychiatrist, becomes a suspect when he is linked to the brutal murder of his former lover, Anthony Dimmond. Investigated by Baltimore homicide detective Will Graham, Hannibal seduces Will into an intense sexual relationship. Meanwhile, the murder case becomes increasingly complicated when Will’s former lover is implicated in the murders. Can Will track down the real murderer before his own life is at risk?
Relationships: Anthony Dimmond/Hannibal Lecter, Dr. Frederick Chilton/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: Reel Hannibal 2020





	Primary Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: The fic is nearly finished and I will make sure to post the remaining chapters soon!

[ ](https://imgur.com/6ZNx02u)

**Archdiocesan Shrine of Holy Mercy**

**408 South Chester Street**

**Baltimore, Maryland**

**Tuesday**

Detective Will Graham stepped inside the church and tilted his head back to stare at the high, arched ceilings. The walls were painted a light pink and the ceiling was gold and white. There were a dozen hanging lamps that matched the modern interior, giving the main room a warm and bright glow. The pews were lined neatly with a wide center aisle straight to the raised altar at the front of the room. Will thought it was a pretty fancy church, the kind where wealthy families and generous donors had reserved seating and pews with brass plaques with their names etched on it. He noted that there were uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives surrounding the cordoned off area right in front of the altar, a small tent structure keeping the greedy tabloid vultures and curiosity seekers from getting an eyeful. 

“Wow...take a look at this place. When was the last time you were in a church, Graham?” Detective Beverly Katz said, standing next to him and looking around avidly, a wide smile on her narrow face. 

“Can’t really say,” he said, shrugging. “My pop and I weren’t religious. What about you?” 

Beverly smirked, raising her eyebrow. “I grew up Presbyterian. My parents forced us to go to a Korean church growing up, but I escaped all the church drama when I left for college.” They started walking down the aisle. “What do you make of leaving a dead body inside of a church? Do you think it was a cult?” 

Will snorted, giving Beverly a side glance. “Maybe it was someone who just didn’t like the church drama.” 

They walked around the screen and stared at the mutilated body. Will frowned, cocking his head to the side as he and Beverly took it all in. 

“Huh,” Will said, frowning. He made a face at the lingering scent of rotting meat and blood, his stomach turning slightly. “Kind of makes you want to become a vegetarian.” 

“Haven’t seen anything like that before,” she remarked, nonplussed. “You don’t really see a lot of skinnings in Baltimore. None of the gangs retaliate like this and especially not in a church. Maybe on the front steps, to send a message, but not inside. Hey, remember that case from last winter? The trucker who looked like he was ripped apart by a bear?”

Will exhaled slowly, remembering bitterly how the other detectives laughed at his report that it was a man wearing a bear’s teeth and claws that killed the trucker. “That was no bear attack.” 

“I thought that was our weirdest case, but this definitely takes the cake.” 

“Doesn’t it look like a heart to you?” Will said, walking around the figure until he stood next to Beverly. He pointed his gloved finger at the body, focusing on the torso and the bent limbs. “Whoever did this did an expert job of skinning -- a hunter or a doctor, maybe a mortician or a taxidermist.” 

“Could be your local butcher,” she said, grinning morbidly. 

“Yeah, maybe. But it wouldn’t be some punk  _ Bawlmer _ gangbanger. This takes time...precision. It’s elegant. Brutal. Someone with a lot of skill and patience. And then once they skinned him, they bent him to form this shape.” He took a deep breath. “This was personal. Very personal.” 

“Hey, officer!” Beverly called, catching the attention of the nearest uniform. “Officer Benson. Was the rest of the church searched? Is this the only crime scene?” 

“Yeah, forensics was here earlier. We looked the church over, top to bottom. Aside from some blood droppings trailing in here from the back door, this is the only scene.” 

“Anything on the security cameras?” 

The officer shook his head. “There aren’t any.” 

“Thank you,” she said, and then turned to Will. “Something like this would’ve left behind a bigger mess.” She made a face. “Who doesn’t have a security system these days? With churches getting vandalized, you’d think that they’d have something. This place looks like they have a lot of valuable artifacts.” 

Will couldn’t stop staring at the body. The killer was methodical and the display was beautiful in a cruel way. Who was the victim? Why was he chosen? And what was the meaning of the heart? 

“The killer has a kill room. Someplace private. Killed them there, brought them here.” Will bit lightly at his bottom lip. “But why this church? Is there a connection?” 

Beverly whistled, nodding. “How the hell did they even get the guy in here without being seen? Or leave behind any trace? Maybe it’s more than just one person. How would one person set up the body on those swords?” She reached out and smacked Will on the shoulder. “You know what this reminds me of? Tarot cards.” 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, quickly searching through Google images. Will crouched down, looking at the skinned face of the victim. Whoever the unlucky bastard was, he had very blue eyes. They were lidless and staring into nothingness, but the color was brilliant against all the red of the burst veins in the whites of the eyes. 

“He was still alive,” Will said, frowning slightly. “Because it was personal, the killer would’ve shown him their face. The vic would’ve been told why it was happening to him. The killer enjoyed watching him suffering.” 

Beverly snorted, looking at her phone screen. “Yeah, the killer’s a sadistic bastard. He gets points for creativity, though.” 

Will glanced over at her and they shared a grin. When they were first partnered together, five years ago, he wasn’t sure if they could work together. Will wasn’t all that great at being a team player. But Katz was a bit of a rebel, too, and she didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. She was slow to anger but she could eviscerate anyone with a few well chosen words. He thought she was probably the best detective in the department and it wouldn’t be long until she was promoted up the ladder, leaving him behind. 

“Okay, listen to this.  _ A three of swords represents threefold pain inflicted by words, actions, and intent to the emotional and physical self _ ,” she read from her phone, smirking down at him. “Maybe it was a lover’s quarrel.” Beverly looked at the body. “What the hell kind of fight could cause someone to do this?” 

“You’d be surprised that it doesn’t take much,” he murmured, dryly. 

Beverly gave him a look. “Bad break up?” 

Will sighed, not wanting to get into it with her. “Bad break up.”

“We need his ID.” 

Will looked around and nodded to one of the other detectives on the scene. “Hey, Price, got a name for the victim?” 

“Not yet,” the older detective said, walking towards them. “Hey Beverly.” 

“Jimmy,” she said, smiling at him. “Thanks for that sourdough bread recipe. I made it over the weekend and it turned out perfect.” 

“Oh good, good,” he said, getting excited. “Did you use my starter recipe? Because there are -- “ 

“Can you get us up to speed?” Will gave them both a look, cutting Jimmy off, not wanting to get stuck in the middle of a long discussion about baking.  _ Again. _

Jimmy sighed and gave him a look. “You know, Graham, you really need a hobby.” 

“I have hobbies,” he said, staring at him. 

Beverly and Jimmy exchanged knowing glances and giggled. 

“The Parish secretary called it in around 9 this morning. Mrs. Charlotte Jennings-Kaminski. It’s hyphenated. She found the body. She comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays to take care of all the administrative tasks for the church. She was so upset, had the ambulance take her to the hospital to get checked out. We talked to the Reverend and the other priests. They’re still reeling from the shock and descrecation to their church. It’s mostly a Polish Catholic congregation here, the largest Parish in the DC metro area. They didn’t have much to say; couldn’t think of why their church would be targeted for something like this,” Jimmy reported, closing his small notepad. 

“Racially motivated? Did they say if they’ve gotten any threats or suspicious new churchgoers?” Will said, looking at the body again. 

“Nothing and no one. It’s a pretty tight knit community. Everyone knows someone, that kind of thing,” Jimmy reported, shaking his head. 

Will leaned in closer, looking at the long cuts in the torso. “Is something missing? Look at these cuts here.” 

“Heart, lungs, tongue, and kidneys are missing.”

“But the genitalia is still intact,” Will said, staring at the crotch. “Medical examiner should run a rape kit on the vic, see if he was sexually abused prior to his death.” 

Beverly and Jimmy were silent. Will looked over his shoulder to see Jimmy nodding, making a note of it. 

“Why would someone take the organs, though?” Jimmy said, making a face. 

“Could be trophies,” Beverly said, frowning. 

“Or they’re going to make a very hearty casserole,” Will murmured, looking over at Beverly and Jimmy and seeing their disgusted expressions. He laughed, running his hand over his hair. “There’s a lot of Southern dishes that use offal. When you’re poor, you eat every part of an animal.” 

“You’re in fine form today,” she commented, giving Will a wide smile. 

Jimmy snorted, rolling his eyes. “A cannibal in  _ Bawlmer _ ? Of all the cities in the world to dine on? They could do better.” 

Beverly laughed and Will shook his head, smiling slightly in appreciation of Jimmy’s morbid sense of humor. 

“Forensics tried to take prints, but without actual skin, it’ll be tough to ID him,” Jimmy said, taking a deep breath. “Might have better luck with dental, but it’ll probably take some time.” 

“Hey! Detectives!” 

They looked up to see one of the uniformed officers holding up his hand, gesturing to them. 

“I got something here!” 

Will, Beverly, and Jimmy walked quickly towards the officer and looked at the empty pew. 

“I think there’s blood on that book,” the officer said, holding up his small flashlight to shine the light on a hymnal, the edges of the pages a dark red, and something in the book causing the cover to bulge outwards. 

“Can you shine the light from over there, officer? Thank you,” Will said, reaching down with his gloved hand to carefully slide the book from the book holder. He placed it on the velvet cushion seat and placed the tips of his fingers against the edge of the book, opening it up. 

Inside was part of the tongue and a bloody business card. Will flipped it over with his finger. 

_ Anthony Dimmond, Ph.D.  _

_ Associate Professor _

_ Loyola University Maryland _

_ School of Writing & Modern Poetry  _

Will stared at the tongue, acting like a bookmark in the hymnal. He looked over his shoulder. “Possible ID for the vic.” 

Beverly let out a loud whistle, waving her hand to the forensic team near the front doors. “We need to bag this!” 

Will moved aside as the two forensic specialists marked the items, took photographs, and bagged everything in a large evidence bag. He sealed it and noted the date, time, place, and contents. 

“What was the time of death on the body?” 

“Hard to tell since the interior of the church was cold when we arrived on scene this morning; the AC was running all weekend, even though the secretary said that she’d shut it off Sunday night,” the forensic specialist said, looking up at Will. “Best estimate is about 48-hours. The last time anyone was in the church was their Sunday evening service.” 

“Let’s find out who saw Mr. Dimmond last,” Will said, pulling off his gloves and nodding to Beverly. 

“Hey, hey, wait a sec, Graham,” Jimmy said, putting his hand on Will’s arm. “Zeller and I were first on scene. This is our case. And besides, aren’t you still on desk duty? I’m pretty sure you already have your hands full because of the Stammets case.” 

Will glared at the other detective, but before he could say anything, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle from where Beverly kicked him. 

“Come on, Jimmy,” Beverly said, cajolingly. “We don’t want the case. But this is going to get out of control. We can help you guys.” 

“Take it up with the Captain,” Jimmy told her, giving her a friendly look. He didn’t offer one to Will, but Will didn’t get offered friendly looks anyway. 

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, nudging Will with her elbow to get him moving. “Don’t let them get under your skin, Will.” 

He nodded and headed out of the church. He tossed his gloves into a hazmat container that forensics had set up outside of the building, and walked towards their vehicle. 

“That thing about the tarot cards,” he said, getting into the passenger side as Beverly got in behind the wheel. “There’s a lot of symbolic meaning behind them, right?” 

“My sisters and I once used a Ouiji board to try and conjure up Elvis,” she said, starting the engine and backing out of the parking space. 

Will gave her a quizzical look; they were going to pin that for later. He had a lot of questions. 

“You said that the card represented emotional or physical pain intended on someone,” he said, tapping his fingers on his knee. 

“That someone was the cause of pain to the self,” she said, nodding. “Only someone who knows you well or loves you has the ability to truly gut you.” 

“So the lover, or killer in this case, gutted the vic to show what he did,” Will said, wonderingly. “A sin committed against the lover.” 

“That ties into why the vic was displayed in a church.” 

Will licked his lips and looked out the window. “It was punishment. The killer punished Anthony Dimmond for his sins. This is Old Testament punishment; an eye for an eye.” 

“Do you think that God enjoyed doling out brutal punishments?” 

“Yes,” he said, softly. “And so did the killer.” 

*** 

**Baltimore Police Station - Central District**

**500 East Baltimore Street**

Beverly parked the vehicle in the small lot outside of the station and Will immediately caught sight of a familiar redhead wearing a stylish trench coat and very tall high heels. He ducked his head, using Beverly as a shield, as they hurried towards the main doors. 

“Detective Graham!” Freddie Lounds called, waving her hand at him. 

Beverly rolled her eyes and groaned. “Jesus, doesn’t she have anything better to do than harass you?” 

“Apparently not,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get to the front doors before her. 

Freddie Lounds smiled widely, her lips painted a very deep red, as she approached him with the confidence of a tabloid reporter on a personal mission. Will had gotten on the Tattle Crime Newspaper radar when Freddie took a picture of him at a crime scene and one of the officers slipped and told her Will’s name. 

“Detective Graham! Do you have any comments to the fact that you shot an unarmed suspect? Eldon Stammets had already turned himself in when you shot him -- “ 

“I have no comment,” Will snarled, trying to brush past her without touching her. “And if you continue to harass me, I’ll file a restraining order on you, Ms. Lounds.” 

She grinned, her blue eyes lighting with amusement. “That won’t stop me from finding out the truth, Detective Graham. What are you trying so hard to hide? If it was a clean shoot, then why are you under investigation by Internal Affairs?” 

“Hey, back off, lady,” Beverly growled, stepping closer towards her. 

“Or what? You’ll call the cops?” Freddie smirked, looking at Will. “I heard that you’re under psychiatric care. Is it because of the Stammets shooting or have you always been a little crazy?”

Will gave her a cold look. “You know, it’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about murder for a living.” 

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he opened his mouth. Freddie gave him a wide grin. 

“Can I quote you on that, Detective Graham?” 

“That’s enough!” Beverly shouted, taking Will by the arm and pushing him up the front steps into the station lobby. “I hate that woman.” 

Will was furious; someone in the station was talking to her. Someone was selling his private information to the worst tabloid reporter in the city. 

“Graham! Katz! My office. Now!” 

“Fuck,” Beverly hissed, under her breath. “I bet you Zeller ratted us out. He hates your guts.” 

Will followed her towards Captain Jack Crawford’s office, closing the door behind them as Jack stared them down, his hands braced on his waist. The Captain didn’t look happy; but then again, the Captain was rarely happy with Will. 

“What the hell were the two of you doing at the church? Will, you’re on desk duty and Beverly, you’re supposed to be the smart one here!” 

“We were on the way to the station when we heard the call. It was on the way so we just stopped to take a look at the scene,” she said, unintimidated by Jack’s moods. 

“A crime scene isn’t a tourist spot, Katz!” 

“Look, Captain, it’s my fault. I wanted to see if we could provide moral support,” Will said, trying to mitigate a potential full blown screaming match. Beverly wasn’t afraid to stand up for Will, going toe-to-toe with the bosses and standing by his side. He’d never met anyone as loyal as Beverly. But Will didn’t want to see her flush her career down the toilet alongside him. 

Jack glared at him, dark brown eyes narrowing as he looked to Beverly. “I don’t want you two to get involved in any new cases until we put the Stammets investigation to bed. Internal Affairs is looking for anything to bust you back to uniform or to drum you out of the force, Will. And you, Katz, don’t encourage him.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Will said, turning his head to look at Beverly. 

She pressed her lips together and then nodded her acquiescence. 

“Don’t you have an appointment with Dr. Chilton?” Jack said, staring at Will. 

Will groaned internally, but nodded. “Yeah, in fifteen minutes.” 

“Get out of here,” Jack said, waving Will to leave. “Katz, you stay.” 

Will and Beverly exchanged looks; no doubt she’d tell him what the Captain wanted to talk to her about. He left the office and made his way back to his desk on the far side of the room, turning on his computer and pulling up Google. 

He typed in Anthony Dimmond’s name into the search bar and then clicked through the victim’s social media - Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook - and then looked at the images. Dimmond was a handsome man with wavy dark blond hair and blue eyes. He looked tanned and healthy, a warm smile on his lips. There were a few candid pictures of him in a classroom, probably taken by a student, and captioned with “hottie professor.” 

There were also a few pictures of him in a black tuxedo attending some kind of social event. He was even more handsome in these pictures. Formal clothes perfectly tailored to his body, his hair neatly combed back, perfect smile. He stood next to a lot of other well-dressed people in these pictures, everyone looking so damned pleased with themselves. 

A couple of the pictures stood out because Dimmond was standing very close to another tall man, also dressed in a black tuxedo, and Will could see that the man’s hand was curled behind Dimmond’s waist. He was definitely more than just a social acquaintance; he was someone who was  _ familiar _ with Anthony Dimmond. A lover or partner. 

Will clicked on the link, which took him to the  _ Baltimore Times Society Page _ and to some exclusive top donor opera gala from just three months ago. Below the picture were the names of the people:  _ Dr. Hannibal Lecter and his guest, Dr. Anthony Dimmond.  _

_ Dr. Hannibal Lecter.  _

Will stared at Dr. Lecter’s face. He was probably a few years older than Dimmond and there was something unique about his features - high cheekbones, dark eyes, and full lips. Will traced the masculine line of the upper lip with his eyes. He was unconventionally handsome and proud; Will could see it in the tilt of his chin and the unflinching eye contact. It wasn’t arrogance...superiority maybe. A king among commoners - no, not a mere king, but a god among mortals. Beneath that, there was something else about his face that Will couldn’t look away from, something darkly enticing that the doctor was keeping under tight control. 

For most of his life, Will tried to deny the fact that he was attracted to the darkness in humanity. He always saw too much or too deeply, and it lingered for a long time in the corners of his mind. It was no surprise that he went into law enforcement, a profession that was already filled with psychopaths and narcissists. Will wasn’t sure where he was on that spectrum; but he’d never claimed to be anything noble than wanting to help people because he could. 

Anthony Dimmond’s killer had the skill and patience to skin him and display him; to punish him for his sins and transgressions. Will followed his gut instincts, staring at the picture of Dr. Lecter. Did this man have it in him to mutilate and kill a lover? Will needed to meet Dr. Lecter in person; needed to get the scent of him to be sure. He could be wrong and Dr. Lecter could turn out to be just another pretentious, full of shit rich guy. 

Despite the mockery from his peers, Will was rarely wrong. 

A calendar reminder popped up on his screen and Will closed the browser and stared, balefully, at the appointment note.  _ Fuck it.  _ He should just get it over with. 

*** 

**Dr. Frederick Chilton’s Office**

**3rd Floor**

When Will  **was** wrong, however, he was very, very wrong. 

And Frederick Chilton was a very wrong and very bad decision. The first time they fucked, Will had blamed an overindulgence of whiskey and loneliness to take the fall for his walk of shame out of Frederick’s house. The second and third times, Will had no one to blame but himself, and he ended it as abruptly as it began. They had kept their brief affair quiet, not even Beverly knew, and now Will had to sit in mandatory psychiatric sessions with Frederick. 

He knocked on the opened door, getting Frederick’s attention. 

“Will, please come in, it’s good to see you again,” Frederick said, waving his hand to a chair in front of his desk. 

Will closed the door and took a seat, sprawling out and letting out a tired sigh. 

“You look exhausted. How are you sleeping these days?” 

“I’m fine, Frederick.” 

“Are you still experiencing night terrors and sleepwalking?” 

Will frowned, staring at him. “That was one time and I don’t think you should be using what happened in our personal life as part of these sessions.” 

Frederick gave him a small smile and leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped on top of his desk. “Will, I only want what’s best for you. Internal Affairs has built quite a case against you and my clearing you would go a long way to disputing their case and clearing you for field work again.” 

He stared at Frederick for a long moment, taking his time to read him. There was an air of sleazy ambition around him that was uncomfortable, bordering on being creepy. Frederick liked to poke at Will, trying to find anything that he could use to write his next academic paper. Will wasn’t even sure that Frederick was attracted to men; and that he only took Will as a lover in the hopes of getting under Will’s defenses. The three times that they slept together, Will felt like an insect pinned on a display board. Frederick was an opportunist and he was willing to step on Will to get to where he wanted to go next. 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” 

Frederick gave him a pained look. “Will, I thought we were past all that. We can still be professionals -- “ 

“How would it look, professionally speaking, if anyone found out that we’d fucked and that you’re acting as my therapist? I’m pretty sure your license would be revoked.” 

He watched as Frederick’s handsome face twitched into an ugly grimace. “Are you threatening me now?” 

Will laughed, tapping his fingers on his pant leg. “Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe you should clear me and we can both walk away from this cleanly.” 

He got to his feet before Frederick could say anything and opened the door. 

“Will!” Frederick called, standing up and running his hand down the front of his suit. He sighed and gave him a softer look. “Why don’t we have dinner this week? For old time’s sake. I’m sure we can come to a...mutually productive accommodation.” 

Will rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Write the psych eval and clear me for duty, Frederick.” 

*** 

Will logged into the  _ Maryland State Records Database _ and typed in Hannibal Lecter’s name. If there were any warrants out for him, past arrest records, court records, birth records, marriage decrees, lawsuits, civil judgements, bankruptcy reports, or property records, the database would have it. 

But Dr. Hannibal Lecter seemed to lead a problem-free life. The only records Will could find on him were three property records in Maryland, listing a primary residence in one of the wealthy neighborhoods of Baltimore. Will jotted the street address down and logged out of the database. He tucked the piece of paper into his jacket pocket and got to his feet, walking to Beverly and tapping his knuckles on her desk. 

“Want to go for a ride and grab some lunch?” 

She gave him a narrowed-eye look, her lips curling into a smile. “Sure. I could eat.” 

“Come on,” he said, smirking at her. “I got a place in mind.” 

*** 

**Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s Residence**

**5 Chandler Square**

The house wasn’t a house, but a mansion in Guilford, one of Baltimore’s most elegant neighborhoods. Coincidentally, it was close to Loyola University Maryland and Johns Hopkins University. The house was on a large corner lot and had a very picturesque and gothic look to it. It was a light brown brick house, symmetrical on each side of the double doors, with tall windows. There seemed to be three floors, but possibly more if the house had a functional basement and attic. The front lawn was green and immaculate, the large trees pruned. Neatly trimmed bushes lined the sidewalk that led to the steps going up to the covered landing. There was nothing unpleasant about the facade; but maybe it was too picture perfect. It gave Will the creeps. 

“It looks like a dollhouse from one of those Grimm fairy tales,” Beverly noted as they walked around the corner to the double front doors. He was always surprised that he and Beverly were on the same wavelength; most people scratched at Will’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Let’s see if the monster is in,” Will said, pressing the doorbell. They could hear the soft chimes ringing inside. 

A few moments later, a young woman, possibly in her late teens, with long dark hair and bright blue eyes opened the door. She had a fresh and pretty look, ruddy cheeks with a smattering of freckles. She greeted them with a polite smile and a curious look. “Hello.” 

“Good afternoon,” Will said, as he and Beverly held up their badges. “I’m Detective Will Graham. Detective Beverly Katz. Baltimore Metropolitan Police Department. May we have a moment of your time, Ms. Lecter?” 

She chuckled and then opened the door wider, inviting them inside. “Well, what can I do for Baltimore’s finest?” 

“Is your father available? May we speak with him.” 

Will looked around the entryway of the house. It was definitely a masculine house with dark colors and black marble flooring. There were a number of antlers displayed on the walls next to what looked like expensive works of art. The round table in the middle of the entryway held a large vase with fresh cut flowers and small statues. It was thoroughly clean of clutter, the floor shiny, and completely impersonal. 

“Dr. Lecter is at his office. Tuesdays are his office days,” she said, grinning coolly. “What’s this about, Detectives?” 

“He’s not your father,” Will said, looking at her closely. 

“No,” she said, smiling at him. 

“What’s your name?” Beverly said, looking at the young woman. “And how do you know Dr. Lecter?” 

“I’m Abigail Hobbs,” she said with a coy smile. “I’m his assistant.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to know Dr. Lecter’s office address, would you?” 

“Of course,” she said, softly. “I’ll be right back with his business card.” 

He watched as Abigail walked through a set of opened double doors. He exchanged glances with Beverly and looked into the room. It was a dining area, a thick wood table with twelve chairs round it, a fireplace on one side, glass doors that probably opened to the backyard, the walls were painted a dark blue, and one wall had some kind of massive living herb garden growing from wall planters. Beverly turned to look at Will, her eyes widening comically. 

Abigail returned, holding a business card. She handed it to Will. “You might catch him on his lunch break if you leave now. He’s there until 7 o’clock, but his last meeting is at five.” 

“Thank you,” he said, looking at the address and then handing the card to Beverly. “Have a good day, Ms. Hobbs.” 

“You, too, Detective Graham. Detective Katz.” She said, pleasantly, walking them to the front doors. 

Outside, Will took a few deep breaths to clear his senses. There was something definitely off about Abigail Hobbs. Why did her name sound so familiar? 

“That was so weird,” Beverly whispered, looking over her shoulder. Will looked, too, and saw Abigail Hobbs still standing in the doorway, watching them with that small, secretive smile on her lips. “She’s young - maybe eighteen or nineteen. You think she and Dr. Lecter are...something more personal?” 

“I can’t put my finger on it,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t think she has a sexual relationship with Dr. Lecter. That’s not the vibe I got from her. Maybe she really is just an assistant and she runs his house. It’s a big house.” 

He curled his shoulders in and sighed. Beverly looked over at him, frowning slightly. “You okay?” 

“I feel like someone just stabbed me in the stomach and walked over my grave,” he told her, shaking off the weird feeling. “Like  _ deja vu _ or something.” 

“Well, at least Dr. Lecter’s office isn’t that far away,” Beverly said, tossing the car keys to Will. 

*** 

**Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s Office**

**687 Bayshore Avenue, Suite 200**

“Nice digs,” Beverly murmured as they stepped into a waiting room, comfortably decorated in warm and muted greens and sturdy but obviously expensive furnishings. “Business must be good.” 

“Abigail Hobbs said that Tuesdays were his office days, but she’s not here working. That’s a little odd,” Will said, walking to the wood paneled interior door. He knocked his knuckles on it with a polite and gentle knock. The door opened and Will met the dark eyes of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

“Detectives,” he said, his voice carrying a soft accent. Something European, Will thought, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his badge. 

“I’m Detective Will Graham. This is Detective Beverly Katz,” he said, watching as Hannibal looked closely at his and Beverly’s identification. “We’re with Baltimore Metro PD. May we have a moment of your time, Dr. Lecter?” 

Hannibal gave them a gracious smile, taking a step back and opening the door wider, inviting them in. “Of course, please come in.” 

“You don’t seem surprised to see us, Dr. Lecter,” Beverly said, taking the lead while Will walked in behind her, looking around the room. 

“I believe you met my assistant, Abigail, at my home. She gave me a courtesy call that I would be receiving guests during my lunch break,” Hannibal said, his tone open and politely friendly. “Though I’m curious how I can be of assistance.” 

Will continued his walk around the office, his hands clasped behind his back. The room was quite large and open, with a second floor loft that was a wall of bookcases and neatly organized textbooks and notebooks. A wooden ladder was pushed to the far end of the room, allowing access to the loft area. Will could tell that Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a man who liked things in their specific places. The office furnishings were a mixture of modern and classic structures; everything looked expensive, but it was tasteful. He certainly wasn’t subtle, though; Will thought back to the picture of Hannibal and Anthony in the society pages -- a god amongst mortals.

“What’s your speciality?” Will said, looking at the other man. 

“Clinical psychology, in the areas of psychodynamics and behaviorism,” Hannibal said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Though I do enjoy dabbling in forensic psychology.” 

“Do you like to think about murderers, Dr. Lecter?” 

“I find all areas of the criminal justice system fascinating, particularly around the investigative process and how it impacts members of law enforcement. I’ve consulted for the FBI, offering my services to field agents who often find themselves inured by the darkness that they see daily.” 

Hannibal’s brown eyes were flecked with a bit of maroon, or maybe a trick of the light. Will was reminded of the light reflection of predators in the darkness, giving them better eyesight in the dark to hunt their prey. 

Will nodded, breaking off eye contact, looking at a round table that held large pencil drawings. 

“You’re not fond of eye contact, Detective Graham?” 

He scoffed, looking down at the hand sketch of a beautiful church. The realism was striking, the minute details of each brick and stone, the stained glass windows, were rendered perfectly to scale. Even with Will’s limited knowledge of art, he was able to tell that the pictures were drawn by a master hand. 

“I don’t need psychoanalysis, Dr. Lecter.” He glanced up to gauge Hannibal’s reaction. 

Hannibal made a soft hum, his face emoting compassion. It wasn’t a real emotion, but Will appreciated the effort. 

“Observation is what we do, Detective.” 

“These are beautiful,” Will said, changing the subject abruptly, hoping to catch Hannibal off guard. “Yours?” 

“Yes, a hobby of mine.” 

Will carefully touched the edge of the drawing and moved it to the side, seeing a drawing of a man pierced with all kinds of weapons and tools. 

“Do you often draw pictures of people being stabbed?” 

Beverly walked towards the table to take a look at the sketches as well. 

“The Wound Man. It’s merely an exercise of my former profession,” Hannibal said, nonchalantly. 

Will and Beverly exchanged glances, both of them frowning slightly. 

“Your former profession?” She said, turning to look at Hannibal. 

“I was a medical doctor; more specifically, an ER trauma surgeon at Johns Hopkins. The Wound Man is a common image in old medical textbooks.” 

Will moved his hand towards his jacket, keeping them loose and close. “Why did you leave behind medicine for psychiatry?” 

“I couldn’t save a patient,” Hannibal said, softly. “It was one loss too many.” 

Will nodded slowly, chewing on his inner lip. It rang true...but also rehearsed. He knew that Hannibal was hiding something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. 

“Are you acquainted with a man named Anthony Dimmond?” Beverly said, stepping closer to Hannibal. Will fought the urge to grab Beverly’s arm and drag her away from Hannibal; he fought the urge to draw his weapon. 

Hannibal smiled calmly; Will turned to look at Hannibal’s face, trying to detect a crack so that he could look beneath the facade. “Yes, of course, Anthony and I are very close friends.” 

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?” Will asked, stepping closer towards Hannibal, taking his full measure of the man. 

The dark blue and white three-piece plaid suit, the white dress shirt, and the blue and yellow paisley necktie should’ve been an eyesore. On anyone else, it probably would be, but on Hannibal, it looked perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and long legs. He was maybe an inch or so taller than Will, but his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Everything about him was...too exacting, too form fitting. He was built to look sophisticated and intimidating, but strangely vulnerable due to the severity of his suit. Will didn’t trust anyone who wanted to appear perfect. 

Hannibal Lecter was a predator, cloaked in a perfect  _ person suit _ . 

“Four days ago. We had dinner at my home and he stayed with me overnight,” he paused, giving them a worried look. “Has something happened to Anthony?” 

“What makes you say that, Dr. Lecter?” 

Hannibal sighed, a patient smile on his lips. “I am not often visited by members of law enforcement and asked questions about my friend, unless something has happened to said friend as it relates to me.” 

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Dimmond was found deceased earlier today,” Beverly said, her voice leveling to that soft, compassionate tone when she had to inform family and friends of the death of a loved one. 

Will watched as a number of interesting things crossed Hannibal’s face; a look of shock mixed with a moment of disbelief and denial, and then a pained look of grief and acceptance. It was perfectly played and Will wanted to applaud his act. 

“May I ask what happened?” Hannibal said, softly. 

“Murdered,” Will said, point blank, watching Hannibal closely. He could feel the disapproval coming off of Beverly. “Brutally so. Skinned and posed like he was a chunk of meat inside of a church. It was a theatrical display, very  _ kabuki-esque _ .” 

Hannibal stared at Will, his lips parting on a loud exhale. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Several organs were missing, too,” Will said, cavalierly. “I suspect that whoever killed him knew exactly what he was doing. Whoever did it had a lot of skill - like a medical doctor would.” 

“Will!” Beverly hissed, stepping next to him to give him a sharp, reproving glance. 

Hannibal gave Will a cold look, though Will could see a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. “Detective Graham, you’ve gone too far.” 

“Dr. Lecter, we apologize for being so direct, but the extreme nature of Mr. Dimmond’s death warrants a unique approach in our investigation,” Beverly said, trying to defuse the situation that Will was trying to incite. He was curious what would happen if he stirred up the animal under Hannibal’s skin. “We thank you for your time, and if you can remember anything you can share about Mr. Dimmond, we’d definitely appreciate it.” 

Hannibal’s lips pressed together and he gave a polite nod to Beverly, but his dark eyes focused on Will. “If you would kindly leave your business card, Detective Graham, I’ll be sure to contact you if I have further information.” 

Will reached into his jacket inner pocket and pulled out one of his business cards, handing it to Hannibal. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for my next patient,” Hannibal said, tucking the business card into his inner pocket. 

“Thanks for your time, Doctor,” he said, as the older man opened the door for them. They exchanged a parting glance but something caught Will’s attention and he gave Hannibal a second look. There was something darkly amused peeking out from behind Hannibal’s eyes, like a cat who enjoyed toying with a mouse before he ripped it apart and consumed it. Chills ran down Will’s back as he walked past Hannibal. He wanted to turn to face Hannibal, protecting his vulnerable back from a surprise attack. Hannibal grinned, nostrils flaring as he watched as they headed to the outer door. 

*** 

“What the hell was that, Will!” Beverly hissed as they walked down the front steps of the building. 

“My gut is telling me that Dr. Hannibal Lecter knows something,” he said, shrugging off Beverly’s anger. 

“Based on what?” She said, incredulously. “You realize that we shouldn’t have even talked to him. If Crawford finds out that we got involved in this case, we’re both going to get screwed to high heaven.” 

“We need to do a background check on Dr. Lecter,” he said, firmly. “He fits the profile.” 

“What profile? There’s no official profile!” 

Beverly unlocked the doors and Will got into the passenger side. “Whoever killed Anthony Dimmond had surgical skill and precision. Hannibal Lecter was a former surgeon and Dimmond’s lover -- “ 

“But what’s the motive? They had a falling out and Dr. Lecter sliced him up and displayed him?” 

Will gave her a long look. “There’s something off about him. Whatever he is, he’s not just some benign psychiatrist who likes to draw as a hobby. That whole thing about him with the plaid suit and the calm demeanor -- it’s all a front. He’s wearing a very well tailored person suit to try and blend in, but there’s something dark in him.” 

Beverly’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling noisily. “Will, you’ve always had great instincts -- some might even say that you’re scarily right most of the time. But I think you’re wrong -- or at least not thinking it through clearly. Yes, Dr. Lecter might have the right profile, but so does every surgeon within a 20-mile radius of the city.” 

Before Will could say anything, Beverly’s cell phone rang and she looked at the incoming number. 

“Shit, it’s Crawford,” she said, answering the call on speaker, giving Will a narrow look. “Yes, Captain -- “ 

“Get back to the precinct now, Katz, and you better have Graham with you!” Crawford shouted, ending the call abruptly. 

Beverly threw the phone onto the dashboard and started the engine. “We’re fucked.” 

*** 

**Baltimore Police Station - Central District**

**500 East Baltimore Street**

They were fucked. 

“I ought to suspend the both of you for that stunt you pulled on Dr. Lecter!” Jack shouted, his face furious as he stared down at Will. “Do you know how it feels when the Mayor calls you personally to ream you a new one? Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a close and personal friend of the Mayor! We’re lucky that he’s not interested in pursuing the matter with a police harassment lawsuit!” 

“Harassment!” Beverly shouted, making a face. “We didn’t harass Dr. Lecter!” 

“Really?” Jack said, turning to stare at her. “Did you or did you not tell Dr. Lecter that Dimmond was ‘ _ skinned and posed like a chunk of meat’ _ and implied that Dr. Lecter was a suspect?” 

Will grimaced. “Captain, I had a really strong hunch -- “ 

“Zip it, Graham!” Jack shouted, cutting him off. He pointed his finger at Beverly. “I’m disappointed in you because I know you know better.” 

Beverly’s cheeks reddened and she clenched her jaw, her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

“Both of you are on desk duty for the foreseeable future until I deem otherwise,” Jack said, sitting down heavily in his chair. “I’m putting you both on administrative leave for the rest of this week. Katz, get out of my office. Graham, you stay right there.” 

Will met Beverly’s eyes and gave her a nod, watching as she walked out of Jack’s office, closing the door firmly behind her. He sighed and turned to the Captain, shaking his head. 

“For what it’s worth, it is my fault,” he said, meeting Jack’s displeased expression. “She didn’t know why I wanted to meet Dr. Lecter -- “

“Save it,” Jack said, exhaling roughly. “I get that the last few weeks have been hard on you because of the IA investigation. Dr. Chilton submitted your psych eval and cleared you for duty. That’ll go a long way to getting IA off your back --  **both** of our backs. But then you pull a stunt like this and we’re both back on IA’s radar. You can’t afford to slip up again.” 

Will nodded, pressing his lips together. “Yes, sir.” 

He watched as Jack huffed, looking away. “Look, Will, you’re a damn good detective, but your imagination is going to get you into hot water.” He turned and met Will’s eyes. “I don’t know how you make connections out of nowhere to come up with the right answer -- “ 

“It’s just the evidence and plain dumb luck.” 

“ -- but I need you to stop trying to go off on your wild goose chases. And I especially need you to stop dragging Katz into it with you.” 

Will wanted to snap out that if Jack thought he could do a better job, then he should go out into the field instead. But he gritted his teeth and swallowed down his annoyance, nodding his head instead. 

“Price is primary on the Dimmond case. He and Zeller already had Dr. Lecter on their persons of interest list. If you’ve made any discoveries, share it with them, and then stay the hell out of the investigation,” Jack said, giving him a stern look. “Get out. Go fishing or something, and try to get your head back on right. I don’t want to hear that you’re crossing the line again. Dismissed.” 

“Yes, sir,” he said, and walked out of Jack’s office. 

He crossed the bullpen to his desk, shutting down his desktop and picking up his messenger bag. He saw Beverly talking to Jimmy and Zeller; and he nodded to her, walking towards them. 

Brian Zeller smirked, looking at Will. “You’re going to give the Captain an aneurysm with the way you two rile him up.” 

Will didn’t bother responding to Zeller’s baiting, turning to Jimmy instead. “Did Beverly fill you in about our meeting with Dr. Lecter?” 

“Yes, and thank you for nearly sabotaging our investigation,” Jimmy said, sarcastically. 

“I didn’t sabotage anything,” he said, frowning. “You’ll want to look closely at Dr. Lecter. He’s your primary suspect in the murder of Dimmond.” 

“You got any tangible evidence?” Zeller said, raising his eyebrow. “Or am I going to have to write up a report stating that it was Will Graham’s infamous gut feeling?” 

“Hey! Knock it off,” Beverly said sharply at Zeller. “We don’t have anything on Dr. Lecter. But you’ll want to wait a few days before going to see him. Seems like Dr. Lecter’s a friend of the Mayor and he called the Captain personally. You’re going to want to treat him with kid gloves and be extra polite.” 

“Jesus, just what we need,” Jimmy complained, grimacing at Will. 

Will sighed, shaking his head. “Fill them in. I’m headed out. I’ll see you on Monday, Beverly.” 

He walked out of the precinct and down the front steps, ducking his head as he headed south towards his apartment building. 

“Will!” 

He looked up to see Frederick exiting the building, waving his hand at Will. For just a moment, Will considered ignoring him and taking off down the street; but considering that Frederick cleared him for duty again, the least he could do was thank the man. 

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said, smiling warmly. “Did Captain Crawford give you the news?” 

“Yeah, thanks for clearing my psych eval,” he said, staring at Frederick. 

Frederick broke into a pleased smile. “You know I’m just looking out for you, Will.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, gruffly. 

“Will, I think it’s a good idea for you and I to restart our unorthodox therapy again,” Frederick said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I think that this is a good opportunity to try and bring down some of the forts in your mind.” 

Will smirked, shaking his head. “No thanks, Frederick. I’m not into being screwed around like that.” 

He took a step but Frederick grabbed his arm to stop him, the smile predatory. “Listen, Will, I do stand by my evaluation, but if you’re showing signs of instability, I can always rescind my recommendation.” 

Will met his eyes and took a step towards him. “Don’t threaten me again, Frederick, or you’ll be fighting off a sexual harassment claim. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who’s experienced your  _ unorthodox _ therapy. Do you really want to do this?” 

Frederick gave him a long look and dropped his hand off Will’s arm. “Well...it was good talking to you, Will. I’ll see you later.” 

“Yeah,” he said, giving Frederick a disdainful look before walking down the street. 

***** 

**Will Graham’s Residence**

**10003 Whitevale Lane**

**Wolf Trap, Virginia**

**Wednesday**

Taking Jack’s advice to get out of the city and to go fishing, Will drove his beat up Volvo station wagon to Wolf Trap to spend his forced administrative leave at his dad’s old farmhouse in Virginia. It was a small, rundown little house in the middle of nowhere, but it was paid off and it was the last thing that he had from his dad. There was a large barn behind the farmhouse where Will had dry docked his dad’s boat, and whenever Will had time, he’d come down to work on the boat engine and to fix up the old house. 

About a mile from the house was a large and healthy stream and Will enjoyed nothing more than to walk through the woods and to spend a few hours of silence in the water, wading to the middle and waiting for largemouth bass to take his bait. It was the only time that Will felt like he could shake off the killers that he could see. 

He could hear his dad’s voice:  _ Close your eyes, lean back your head, and wade into the quiet of the water, son. That’s your design.  _

After four hours of standing in the water and catching only one trout large enough not to throw back, Will trudged his way back to the house. He couldn’t quiet his mind, too caught up in the image of Dimmond and how he was displayed in the church. 

Will could examine the display at his leisure now, safely ensconced in the liminal space in his mind. It was like he could slip past the forts and relive the crime, as if he could parse out the emotions of other people. It was what made him an effective investigator but a lousy person; that “imagination” that Jack talked about showing him the “how” and the “what,” and when he opened himself to it, the “why” behind the crime. Sometimes, after he put a case to bed, he would come out to his dad’s place and allow himself to feel what the killer felt, the unapologetic sadism and rush of ecstatic pleasure in taking a life, and the feeling of lust and power and control over another living being. 

“This is my design,” Will murmured to himself, looking through the trees to see the small farmhouse in the distance. 

Ever since he was a kid, he knew that he was different. His teachers thought that he was too quiet and too odd, advising his dad that Will needed to go into the special classes. He was a good student academically, but he didn’t like integrating with the other students. He could always tell when someone was hiding something; and he never learned how to express himself. His dad refused to take Will out of his regular classes and he fought well-meaning teachers about getting Will tested. But Will always knew he was different, that his mind worked in a way that disturbed teachers and creeped out his classmates. They gave him a wide berth and Will learned to hide his oddities under the cover of being shy and reserved. 

It was why he could understand the killers. They exposed themselves to him when Will looked at their crime scenes. He  _ saw _ them so clearly -- all of them, suffering under their own narcissistic hubris, desiring to be seen and known. 

But the man who killed Anthony Dimmond was different from other killers, Will recognized it immediately. There was sadism and brutality, but also a sense of whimsy and calculation. It was personal to the killer in the sense that the killer was  _ personally offended _ by something Dimmond did. Will couldn’t divine what Dimmond did to offend the killer, but he was certain that the killer believed Dimmond wasn’t worthy of his life. 

Beverly had said, what could someone do to be killed in such a manner, and Will thought that it was obvious after meeting Hannibal Lecter. 

Anthony Dimmond had offended Hannibal Lecter in such a way that he deserved the punishment that he received; and in his death, Dimmond was elevated to something immeasurably beautiful. 

Will mulled it over as he wiped his boots on the rough doormat in front of his back door, walking into the kitchen with his fishing pole and his fishing cooler. He set the cooler and fishing pole on the counter and carefully took off his wading boots, setting them by the backdoor to be washed before he put them away. He unhooked the straps to his chest waders, stepping out of them, and sighed, stretching out his back. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it off, tossing it over a kitchen chair so he was dressed in a tee-shirt and nylon shorts. 

He picked up his fishing pole and walked into the living room, setting the pole on the wall rack with his other fishing poles, and checked the fishing hook. He’d need to replace it, the fish had taken bites out of the lures. 

The phone rang, filling the still air of the house, and Will checked the caller ID before deciding to pick up. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve been trying to call you all morning, where’ve you been?” 

“Fishing,” he said, sitting down in one of his secondhand retro armchairs near the wall, stretching out his legs. “What is it?” 

“I got some background information for you about Dr. Lecter,” Beverly said, her voice clearly amused. “I sent it to your personal email so keep it on the down low. So this Dr. Lecter is a really interesting guy. He’s Lithuanian by birth, became a dual citizen about fifteen years ago, he’s filthy rich, and get this, he’s a Count.” 

Will made a face. “A count what?” 

“You know, a Count! Some kind of European royalty or whatever. Last of his line.” 

Will leaned his head back against the armchair. “Huh. That is interesting.” 

“Anyway, forget about him. Jimmy and Brian went to see Dr. Lecter and they didn’t get anything more than we did. He’s a dead end, Will.” 

He frowned, shaking his head, even though Beverly couldn’t see him. “They can’t let him slip through their guard. I know there’s more to him -- “ 

“Will,” she cut in, firmly. “You can’t go around accusing someone like Dr. Lecter without proof. And not just proof, but caught-with-his-hand-on-the-murder-weapon-and-full-confession-with-his-lawyer-present kind of proof. He’s a damn socialite. He’s close friends with the Mayor, he goes to fancy parties, and he gives a shit ton of money to charities all over the city. He’s not going to risk everything to kill someone like Dimmond. They were lovers; anyone who’s watched a TV crime show will know that family and significant others are evaluated first. He’s got an alibi; Abigail Hobbs confirmed that Lecter was home all weekend. Besides, we don’t have motive or the murder weapons. Dr. Lecter told Jimmy and Zeller that their relationship was casual and they enjoyed each other’s company. They asked around and people said the same thing. They all said that Dr. Lecter was a stand up guy, that he and Dimmond were happy in their arrangement. And as much as I hate to say it but Zeller’s right. We can’t write up a report saying that it’s your gut feeling. Not this time.” 

“I  _ know _ Lecter killed Dimmond, Beverly. You need to convince Jimmy and Zeller to look closer. To look beneath the-the  _ person suit  _ that Lecter is wearing!” 

He listened as she gave a deep sigh. “All right, I’ll talk to them.” 

“Thanks,” he said, gruffly. 

“How are you doing?” 

Will leaned back in his armchair and exhaled noisily. “I’m at my dad’s place. It’s quiet...but maybe it’s too quiet. I can hear myself think.” 

Beverly gave a warm chuckle. “Maybe you should adopt a dog, Will.” 

He grinned and then let out a throaty laugh. “I should. But I’d hate to leave a dog stuck in my crap studio apartment in the city while I’m at work. That’s a terrible life for a dog.” 

“Well, you could hire a dog walker to take the dog out during the day, and then take him out to your dad’s place on the weekends, let him run around in the woods chasing squirrels or whatever,” she said, kindly. 

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” he said, somewhat wistfully. 

“If you do get a dog, I’ll be happy to be Auntie Beverly and bring treats.” 

Will stared at the living room, thinking that he could put a dog bed in front of the fireplace, and daydreamed about taking his imaginary dog down to the stream with him. 

“Anyway, thanks for the call and the information on Lecter,” he said, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I appreciate being kept in the loop.” 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, teasingly. “I’ll come by this weekend with pizza and we can look at Jimmy’s case notes.” 

“Okay,” he murmured, grinning slightly. “See you later, Bev.” 

He disconnected the call and tossed the phone handset on top of his desk, sitting back in the chair and thinking about the picture of Hannibal Lecter with Anthony Dimmond. He closed his eyes, imagining a pendulum of light swinging through his mind, helping him separate from his own identity to give himself over to the killer’s feelings. 

He believed Beverly when she said that everyone thought that Hannibal Lecter and Anthony Dimmond were perfectly happy with their arrangement. They probably were...until Hannibal Lecter was no longer pleased enough to keep up the facade. 

But why!  **Why** did he turn on Dimmond? Will couldn’t see it; couldn’t feel it. 

“How much of your public relationship was just for show?” He said, aloud, opening his eyes. “And what did he do to piss you off? What triggered you?” He considered it for a long moment, recalling the details of the display. The skill and time devoted to the display didn’t fit the mold of an amateurish first time killer; it spoke of experience and pride and confidence. “No, not confidence.  _ Arrogance. _ He wasn’t your first kill, was he? He was just the latest unlucky bastard to have gotten on your radar.” 

He got up from the chair and walked to his desk, picking up the half full bottle of whiskey and pouring a couple of fingers worth into a glass. When Beverly came over later, he’d ask her to help him go through cold cases with unusual murder profiles. If he was right and this wasn’t Hannibal Lecter’s first kill, then there was probably a carefully produced trail of bodies that no one had thought to put together; that Lecter’s kills were all unique somehow, but shared a common murderous theme. 

“What kind of killer are you, Hannibal Lecter?” Will pondered, taking a sip of whiskey and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. “You’re highly intelligent and organized. You’re a shrink so you probably don’t hear voices in your head telling you to kill. You didn’t take Dimmond’s dick so you’re probably not a sexual sadist.” He thought back to the seminar he had attended at Quantico a few years ago. “You’re arrogant with a god complex. It wasn’t mercy, it wasn’t mission, and it wasn’t sexual...so that leaves power and control.” 

He wanted Dimmond’s last moments on earth focused entirely on him; to show Dimmond that Lecter was in control and had the power to destroy him. 

He snickered, slightly, looking into his glass of amber liquid. “I see you now.” 

The phone rang again and he picked it up, thinking it was Beverly. But he caught himself before hitting the answer button to look at the LED display:  _ Chilton _ . 

“Take no for an answer, Frederick,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

He set the phone down on his desk, ignoring Frederick’s call, and walked back towards the kitchen to start cleaning the fish and to prep for an early dinner. He’d read through the notes on Lecter and start piecing together a picture of the killer. 


End file.
